Intro -- Myself AKA The Matador
Journal Entry: January 1st, 2022 Tulsa is asleep under a blanket of January's chill, and here I am, Emeth Lee Bard, at the stroke of midnight, turning another page of the calendar, another year older, yet feeling no closer to the dream that dances at the edges of my soul. The city's quiet, its dreams locked behind the frosty windows of homes and the dimmed lights of downtown, mirrors my own quiet desperation. The car wash hums its monotonous tune, a symphony of suds and sprays, a lucrative legacy from my family that's become both my prison and my sustenance. There's irony, I suppose, in the cleansing of others' journeys while mine remains muddied, stuck in the perpetual cycle of rinse and repeat. In my heart, there's a tumultuous sea, waves of verse crashing against the shores of my reality, yearning for the vastness of the poetic unknown. "The Matador," they call me, or rather, I call myself in the dim light of anonymity. A name born from the desire...